All the Wrong
Notes
by
Shana Silver
My stepbrother
shuts me out of
his life. Again.
As the door slams,
I scrunch up my
nose, hoping that
squeezing my face
will somehow lessen
the impact. Pausing
in the hallway
outside his room,
I savor the one
moment of silence
before it all
begins. I imagine
Cody unzipping
the guitar case,
polishing the
wood with his
sleeve to remove
any dust that
built up from
yesterday's session,
bending his head
forward as he
puts on the strap,
messing up his
spiky hair.
I hold my breath,
sucking in my
stomach and jutting
out my chest even
though he can't
see the cleavage.
This is the moment
before clarity.
I don't know what
note he'll play.
What it will feel
like in my ears
as I hear it.
How I'll change
after it's played,
after the tune
gets stuck on
refrain in my
head. I can't
help but imagine
this is what sex
will be like.
Silence and then
sound.
He'll lay back
and let me do
all the work.
Just like he lets
me do all the
English homework.
The scene is so
visual in my head:
me on top of him,
tousling his hair,
unbuttoning his
shirt…
Cody strums the
guitar, and I
can breathe again.
I know nothing
about music, but
I recognize that
song, the one
he plays when
he races up to
his room and slams
the door behind
him, forgetting
I ever existed.
Every day I hope
after that first
strum, it'll be
like the first
day he moved into
my house six months
ago, when he invited
me into his room
to hear him play.
I took it for
granted that day.
I laughed at him
when he hit all
the wrong notes.
He never invited
me to listen again.
I trudge back
downstairs and
sink into the
couch. I'm in
love with someone
who loves an inanimate
object. After
six months of
living in the
same house, he
already sees me
as the annoying
sister.
Cody changes chords,
and I change my
tune, diving into
my homework.
On the couch,
his book bag mocks
me as if its presence
next to me is
somehow the personification
of Cody. It smells
like him, of cigarettes
he's not supposed
to smoke and the
mint gum he chews
to hide it.
I shift my weight
on the couch,
and his book bag
falls to the floor
with a thump,
landing upside
down. The contents
spill out through
the half-opened
zipper. I start
to shovel everything
into the bag when
his English notebook
catches my eye,
lying there like
a diary without
a lock. All during
class I watch
him scribble in
that notebook,
pretending to
take notes. If
he actually took
the notes, he
wouldn't need
to copy my homework.
I set the book
bag against the
seat cushion and
let the notebook
rest on my lap.
The cover frays
at the edges.
I flip to the
back where he's
written song quotes
from his favorite
bands, tracing
my finger over
his writing, memorizing
his signature,
ready to forge
it on my own notebook.
An autograph for
his only fan.
Before I open
the book and invade
his privacy, I
savor the feeling
of before, of
the unknown. Closing
my eyes, I try
to imagine what
I think will be
on the pages.
Guitar tabs maybe.
Or possibly he
does homework
for another class,
a class he doesn't
share with me.
Or he's expanding
the quotes on
the back to full
passages. I flip
open to a random
page and see a
thin column of
writing that hugs
the margin line.
The next pages
all contain the
same thin column,
only with different
words and different
ragged edges.
Fanning the book,
I flip through
and animate the
pages, the negative
spaces between
the words dancing
before my eyes
as they jump from
position to position.
He's writing songs.
The lyrics have
a musical quality
to them, and I
know immediately
which guitar song
this one refers
to. I can hear
the chords in
my head, the changes
in pitch.
This one's called
HER. With her
chocolate hair
and her waxen
smile, she haunts
me. I look down
at my own muddy
hair, stringy
from the humidity
outside. I think
of dinner and
how my smile is
always plastered
on my face when
I'm around Cody.
I wonder if it's
waxen.
She talks as if
she knows it all,
and taunts me.
Maybe he's writing
about me. About
the way I always
let him copy my
homework, but
give him grief
about it. I think
of him in English
class, sitting
next to me, his
hand covering
his paper as if
he doesn't want
me to copy his
notes. He runs
home from school,
and shuts me out
of his life. I
can't help but
hope that he wants
to sing his songs
about me. That's
why he can't sing
to me.
The music stops,
and a door opens.
Without thinking,
I rip the song
out of his notebook
and crumple it
into my pocket.
I throw his notebook
back into his
bag and zip it
halfway shut.
My heart pounds,
and my lips feel
parched. I moisten
them with chapstick
and pucker as
if I'm practicing
for a kiss.
He stomps down
the stairs, and
I stare at a page
in my English
textbook. I will
myself to read
the words. Instead,
I only see the
spaces between
the letters.
"Hey,
Megan." Cody
plops down on
the couch, reaches
for the remote,
and then lays
his arm on the
book bag resting
between us. He
cracks his knuckles,
and I flip my
hair, trying to
catch the glare
from the lamp,
hoping it glistens
like melted chocolate.
"My
mom home yet?"
He settles on
a music station,
barely even looking
at me.
I shake my head.
"Crap.
The music store
closes at six,
and I broke my
last guitar string."
"Sorry,"
I say for lack
of a better response.
He rests his head
into the back
of the couch and
shuts his eyes,
the lashes fluttering
a few times in
succession.
I continue to
read, but don't
get very far.
His head jerks
up. He unzips
his book bag and
pulls out his
English notebook.
In a moment he'll
need to give me
CPR because I've
stopped breathing.
Why did I rip
that poem out?
I watch out of
the corner of
my eye as he flips
to a blank page.
I sigh, and he
glances at me.
I give him a half-smile
to cover it up.
"I haven't
done it yet."
I'm referring
to the homework,
but I can't help
think how inexperienced
my statement makes
me sound, like
I'm begging him
to sleep with
me for the first
time. Maybe I
am.
He nods. "I
owe you anyway.
I'll do it today.
Except…"
He opens his eyes
wide, pleading
with me. "I
forgot my text
book." He
pushes his mouth
to one side in
an 'aw shucks'
manner.
I thrust the book
into his lap,
and it falls shut.
"You
could have finished
your reading first."
He laughs, and
I feel stupid.
"I have other
stuff I can work
on."
I wonder if he's
referring to his
song lyrics.
He pushes the
book between us
and opens to the
page I left off.
"Here, we'll
share."
Our shoulders
touch as we both
hunch over, reading.
Except I can't
concentrate any
more than I could
when he first
came down the
stairs. Every
time he looks
over at me and
asks if I'm done,
I just nod and
let him continue
on to the next
page. This is
a moment of silence
I've been waiting
for, when the
two of us spend
time together
instead of apart,
when the music
we're creating
is our own staccato
breaths harmonizing
together. He smells
of hair gel and
cologne. I wonder
if he's replenished
both.
*
* *
In third period
English, I take
my seat as usual
and wait for Cody
to saunter in
nearly on the
bell. He pulls
out his notebook,
barely even looking
at me even though
I'm sitting next
to him.
He starts scribbling,
constantly glancing
at the front of
the room, probably
checking to see
if the teacher
is watching him.
He really does
look like he's
taking notes.
At one point our
teacher, Ms. Sampson,
peeks at him and
smiles at his
proficiency. She
paces in the front
of the room, her
calves still young
enough to lecture
in heels.
Ms. Sampson talks
about prose, putting
examples on the
board of the poetic
nature of the
sentence structure.
She stares at
Cody who doesn't
even look up from
his notebook.
"Cody!"
His head snaps
up. He looks like
he's about to
cry. "You've
been taking extensive
notes all class
period. I'd love
to hear your interpretation
on the prose."
I suck in my breath
and listen to
the tick of the
clock. Someone
in the front of
the room shuffles
in his seat. Ms.
Sampson drops
her chalk. Cody
looks at me, his
mouth open. I
try to will the
correct answer
into his brain
through telepathy.
"It
has a musical
quality,"
he says. "Like
the words were
specifically chosen
to fit into a
rhythm."
Ms. Sampson smiles.
"Very astute,
Cody." She
spins around and
writes more examples
on the board.
I turn my attention
back to Cody,
ready to be on
the receiving
end of his conspiratorial
smile. But I trace
his eyes to the
front of the room
and watch them
settle on a girl.
She turns around
and gives him
an exceptionally
large smile, all
teeth and gums.
The light hits
her lips in such
a way that they
look matte instead
of shiny. They
look waxen. She
whirls her head
back to the front
of the room, and
her cocoa colored
hair follows like
a flowy skirt
still spinning
even after the
dancer has stopped.
Her. Katie Mahoney.
Not me.
I watch her for
the rest of class,
my eyes narrowing.
Silence overwhelms
me as the sound
of the class disappears,
and all I hear
is her bubbly
voice answering
the questions,
showing off her
prowess at academics.
Cody scribbles
and looks up at
her several times
as if he's drawing
a still life and
needs to remember
the details as
he transcribes
them onto paper.
All my fantasies
evaporate, a void
like a blank notebook
page before it
has been covered
in song lyrics.
Katie stretches
her arms, pulling
the delicate satin
of her skin taut.
Her triceps are
defined, and I
wonder if she's
naturally skinny
or if she works
at it, sculpting
her body like
an artist molds
a block of clay,
like Cody writes
a song. A tear
glistens in her
eye as she yawns.
It slithers down
her cheek, then
disappears into
the background
of the room, lost,
forgotten. She
wipes her eye
and smiles at
her neighbor,
shrugging her
shoulders and
scrunching her
nose to show she's
embarrassed at
the action. I
hate her for looking
so cute.
*
* *
When I get home
from school, Cody
retreats to the
couch, his guitar
string still broken.
I walk right past
him to my room.
He won't be bracing
for the moment
when I shut him
out of my life.
I slam the door
harder than he
usually does and
flop onto my bed.
My lavender comforter
rises around me
like mountain
peaks.
I pull out his
song and sing
it to myself softly,
imagining how
all the lines
refer to Katie
and not me. I
can't stop thinking
about her. And
it makes me wonder
why I never really
noticed her before.
She's been in
my classes for
years, always
sitting at the
front, her back
straight, her
arm raised. I
slouch in the
back, doing my
homework only
because I'm expected
to. Not because
I enjoy it. Someone
loves her enough
to write a notebook
full of songs
about her, to
practice every
day from the moment
he gets home until
the moment dinner
is ready. He neglects
his own work just
to focus on his
silent declarations.
Her hair really
is shiny and coaxes
spectators to
run their fingers
through it. It
would feel soft
in my hand. Softer
than my own stringy
locks.
I imagine what
her lips would
feel like to touch,
if they really
are that soft,
or if they're
chapped underneath
the superficial
coating she applies.
I picture myself
running my hand
over her lips,
touching their
craters and peaks
and valleys, feeling
the place where
they coalesce
into her cheek.
I wonder if she
tastes like cigarettes
and mint like
I imagine Cody
does, and in one
brief moment,
I picture myself
leaning in and
kissing
her.
Not him.
But my eyes jerk
open and the thought
bubble pops. My
heart races, and
my stomach churns.
I feel like I've
been on a roller
coaster. I don't
know what's happening
to me. I've never
had romantic feelings
for another girl
before.
I lie with my
eyes open, trying
to concentrate
on my breath.
Maybe I've been
suppressing these
feelings all along,
lying to myself
and obsessing
about a guy I'll
never get because
he thinks he's
my brother.
Like flash cards,
I flip through
the entire junior
class and try
to see if I'm
attracted to any
other girls. But
it's just Katie
who seems magnetic
in my mind. I
let the lyrics
of Cody's song
play as background
music to my mind's
Katie slide slow.
I wonder if she'll
care that I'm
not as skinny
as her or as attractive.
I take a deep
breath. Flipping
onto my side,
I spot the silver
prom dress Cody's
mom bought me.
The prom. I always
imagined going
with Cody, the
two of us slow
dancing under
the disco lights,
my head resting
on his shoulder.
He will smell
like hair gel,
and we'll kiss
on the floor and
realize that over
the last six months,
we've fallen in
love. I smile
at the thought
and let myself
slip into the
fantasy I've coveted,
where he parts
his lips. My own
lips connect with
his. He'll taste
like the booze
I know he's going
to sneak into
the dance. His
hands will slip
down my waist
and linger on
my butt. Katie
will stare and
place her thin
arms on her hips.
That tear from
her yawn will
fall once again,
though this time
at the realization
that she's lost
him.
And now I'm more
confused than
ever because I
still have romantic
feelings for Cody.
I didn't get chills
when I fantasized
about kissing
Katie. I try once
again, willing
myself to see
if I'm attracted
to girls, but
the memory always
fades before our
lips make contact.
And it hits me:
I'm not in love
with her. I just
love the fact
that Cody loves
her. I love the
words he described
her with and the
way he looks at
her. I love what
she is to him.
Not what she is
to me.
The silence fills
the room, and
now I know how
Cody must have
felt yesterday
when his guitar
string snapped,
because my hope
of being with
him snaps, too,
as I finally understand
Cody's feelings
for her. Not me.
I get off the
bed and trudge
downstairs. Cody
sits on the couch
with his notebook
in his lap. The
one about her.
It stings me for
a moment, but
I brush away the
hurt and plop
down next to him.
The impact from
my fall sends
his notebook jumping
in his lap. Katie
would relax more
gracefully.
"Where'd
you run off to?"
he asks, his eyes
not wavering from
the television.
"Someone
had to lock herself
in her room right
after school."
I give him a half-smile
and wait for him
to laugh. He never
does.
"Hey,
I'm sorry. I only
shut the door
because I want
to be quiet so
you could do your
homework. I didn't
want to mess you
up."
"Oh."
Cody stares at
the TV. I readjust
my seating position.
The silence is
killing me. I
have to say something.
"I'd like
to hear you play
sometime. Be your
audience or whatever.
I don't like when
you shut me out
of your life."
I pause and wait
for him to say
something. The
room swells with
the bass from
the music video
blasting on TV.
"I mean,
I know we've only
been…siblings
for a few months,
but, well, we
don't need to
be strangers."
He shifts his
leg so it rests
underneath him
and faces me.
"I don't
know what to say."
I nod, knowing
I said too much.
I get up from
the couch, ready
to go back to
my room. I never
expected him not
to even want to
be my friend,
my brother. I'm
just a girl he
likes to copy
homework from
so he can impress
Katie. All I am
to him is a piece
of paper with
words on it.
He grabs my arm
and tugs on it,
trying to push
me back onto the
couch. I let my
arm hang limply
between us. I
think of the way
the skin doesn't
rise over sculpted
triceps.
"Megan,
don't go. I'm
just not…very
good at this stuff."
He wins, and I
fall back into
the couch, staring
at the pictures
moving across
the TV.
Ah… this
stuff…the
friend stuff,
the stuff that
isn't about love.
Because I know
he's quite articulate
about love. On
paper he is. I
pull out the crumpled
Katie poem from
my pocket and
hand it to him.
He stares at it,
his mouth hanging
open.
"I'm
sorry I read your
notebook. I have
no excuse. I just...I
don't know…wanted
to know what you
were thinking."
His eyes fill
with water, and
for a moment I
think he's going
to cry as his
lips pull into
a thin line.
His silence is
too much to bear,
so I just keep
talking to fill
the void. "So
anyway, I get
it, Cody. It's
cool. You just
don't want to
talk about things
with me."
Hanging his head
low, he smoothes
out the paper
and tucks it back
into his notebook.
He doesn't look
at me. He opens
his mouth to speak,
and I scrunch
my face up to
lessen the impact
of his harsh words.
"Well, if
my Mom would get
home before the
stupid store closes,
I could play it
for you."
"You
don't have to.
I didn't say all
this to force
you to pay attention
to me." I
cradle my arms
around my knees.
Part of me wants
to run back upstairs
and slam the door,
but I'm too weak,
too ashamed of
my earlier thoughts
and the way I
let his notebook
manipulate me
into fantasies.
"I
want to."
He places his
hand on my knee,
and his thumb
lingers dangerously
close to grazing
my knuckle. "I
was afraid you
wouldn't like
the songs unless
they were perfect.
That's why I was
so obsessed with
practicing."
He pats my knee
and removes his
hand. The spot
feels cold without
his warmth. Katie
evaporates from
my mind, leaving
me just as empty
as my knee feels.
"I didn't
want you to laugh
at me again. I
wanted to impress
you this time."
He stares at me
with undulating
eyes. His mouth
creeps into a
smile.
This is the before.
Soon it'll all
begin. And then
I'll know. And
there won't be
silence to hide
behind anymore.
This isn't a fantasy
or wishful thinking.
This is real.
I slowly lift
my eyes to meet
his. His pupils
swim with anticipation.
Sucking in my
breath, I savor
the silence before
I acknowledge
what he just said.
Before I even
allow myself to
comprehend it.
Before my fantasies
of Cody loving
Katie morph into
the reality of
Cody loving me.
Before Katie becomes
a practice song,
and I laugh because
I realize I hit
all the wrong
notes.
©
2007 by Shana
Silver
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